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    Home»Creative

    every second weekend at dad’s

    Honi Soit Writing Competition Fiction Shortlist
    By Blake FalcongreenAugust 19, 2020 Creative 2 Mins Read
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    I

    the ancients cannot help us now.

    we dove (sometimes drove) – far away,

    perhaps over the Nullarbor,

    or is it Oondiri? – we were

    never bogged down with such facts – we

    grew in fishbowls, from Latin roots.

    II

    heaving and hurrying

    humidity sticks to the lungs,

    breathes like water, but not

    – like at the coast – where it foams in

    the air as mist and sheen.

    – entirely uniform, solid

    spread – detected by the

    weather instruments, an eighty

    per cent humidity.

    III

    a low resonance blows (breathes) from

    the soundboard – of polished chip-wood

    and plastic veneer. – its heavy

    bass runs up my hands – how do you

    describe vibrations?       – maybe they’re

    another sense – of place and home

    among the rhythm and soundscape.

    IV

    Hephaestion knew what was

    – impenetrable beyond the

    Indus. – if he slyly

    danced like Salome          – it was in

    – tents, – and all that remained

    visible was the flicker of

    – a fire – projecting his

    form against the royal fabric.

    V

    the wicker man burns brightly, – I

    – myself set him alight.

    I set him with sacrifices

    – of my choosing – and watched

    him burn until dawn. – I collect

    my things – I’m getting picked

    – up out the front in half an hour.

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